


When the Curtain Falls

by lupwned



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, F/F, Flirting, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-10-17 06:04:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17554802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupwned/pseuds/lupwned
Summary: There is something about the woman standing across from her – with loose blonde curls, a deep red manicure, and a string of dangling pearls that likely cost more than one month of her rent – that leaves her even more anxious than usual.“Why don't you surprise me Miss...” The woman waits for her to fill in the blank as she fingers through her purse for some cash.“Belivet. Therese Belivet.”





	1. Chapter 1

It takes less than a week at WTL Coffee for Therese to plot her revenge. When Dannie'd offered to pull some strings for her, the coffee shop in a performance center complex was not exactly what she'd had in mind. He'd led her on with his own stories of the place – of lush orchestras and beautiful theaters, of lavish sets and experimental productions where every cast member plays a vital role in its success or failure. And she's certain he'd tried, talked her up as best he could with the little experience she has, which of course was not enough to land the dream job she's still in search of. Standing behind a cash register and frothing overpriced lattes are hardly her favorite pastimes, but a job is a job, and Manhattan living is far too expensive for her to be picky. Still, with a degree and a few non-professional productions under her belt, she'd expected to be working behind the stage in some capacity – not in front of the house selling bagels and pastries.

Nevertheless, she is grateful. Retail jobs in New York City fill up notoriously fast around the winter holidays, and even an eight-week temp position will help pay for her heat and electric and, perhaps, a small Christmas gift for Dannie to show her appreciation.

The patrons are tolerable enough. The majority are old money with nothing better to do than drink expensive mochas and flaunt their fur coats and designer bags. Some are nearby college students seeing matinee performances to fill class requirements, finding solace in the opportunity to indulge in an iced coffee and a croissant before 3 hours of Shakespeare's finest. And at the end of it all, she always serves them with a shy smile and a ' _thank you_ '.

The first week of eight is horribly uneventful, and at the start of the second, Therese wonders if it's actual possible to die of boredom. The theater has always offered her such excitement and a chance for artistry, yet the most creative she can get behind her coffee counter is to try shapes instead of lines with her caramel drizzle. While playing a riveting game of tic-tac-toe on the back of a sheet of receipt tape, the echo of heels on the hall's concrete flooring pulls Therese from her distracted haze, and she hastily shoves the scribbles aside as the source of the sound approaches.

“I'm looking for the Hanna.”

Therese blinks, paralyzed. She's always been shy – awkward in a way that clued her early on she belongs _behind_ the stage. But there is something else about the woman standing across from her – with loose blonde curls, a deep red manicure, and a string of dangling pearls that likely cost more than one month of her rent – that leaves her even more anxious than usual. “I'm sorry?”

“The Hanna Theatre? I have an appointment with the artistic director to discuss...” The woman's voice trails off as she digs into her purse to retrieve her cell phone. In the process, she removes her pair of [jet black Coach gloves](https://www.coach.com/coach-sculpted-signature-short-leather-gloves/32956.html?dwvar_color=BLK&dwvar_size=6+1%2F2&src=googleshopping&cid=S_GPLA32956_campaignid=1449074583&gclid=Cj0KCQiAp7DiBRDdARIsABIMfoD1OlNzOFyimdPSat8-6UmmsrvysludMvJwKRFdIAzuS7AfXvCE2voaAkhHEALw_wcB) – branded with the easily recognizable gold C – and sets them down next to the register.

“Well, I'm...” Therese tries to compose herself. “I apologize, I've only just started here. I'm still getting to know my way around the venue.”

As the patron's gaze moves from the lit glass iPhone screen, tossing the hair away from her face with the back of her hand as she does so, Therese finally gets a good glimpse of the most beautiful blue eyes she's ever seen. “What would you recommend?”

“Recommend?”

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow raises. “To drink?”

“Oh! Yes, we have a few specials for the holiday season,” Therese begins before rattling on the spiel she'd been instructed to use by corporate – peppermint flakes and gingerbread flavoring and a whole bunch of nonsense that is American indulgence at its finest.

“Why don't you surprise me Miss...” The woman waits for Therese to fill in the blank while she fingers through her purse for some cash.

“Belivet. Therese Belivet.” She taps on the touch screen of the register's computer and brings up one of the holiday options. “How does a White Chocolate Mocha sound with toasted cranberry sugar?”

“I'd say you've got yourself a deal, Miss Belivet.” Grinning with perfectly aligned white teeth, she fumbles with the zipper on her wallet, then frowns when she finds no bills there. Therese watches the shift of expression with wonder, never realizing how incredibly attractive subtle laugh lines could be. “I'm afraid I left my cash at home. Do you take cards?”

“Five dollar minimum.”

“Hmm...let's add a chocolate chip cookie. I'd say it's for my daughter but,” the woman laughs, “I'm afraid that would be a lie. I'm sure I'm going to need a pick-me-up after the day I'm about to have. Table reads always make me nervous.”

Therese looks down at the woman's hands and searches for the ring that often goes hand-in-hand with a child. There's a gold band with an emerald in the center of it on her opposite hand, and a similar cut with a diamond on her middle finger, but the piece she'd expected is suspiciously absent. Therese commits the detail to memory – as though it matters, as though she has the slightest chance, wedding ring or not.

She charges a black-label American Express for the amount of the purchase – a grand total of $5.35 – and watches as the woman signs her name in blue ink with sprawling penmanship. Like all other credit card purchases, Therese places the receipt in her clear zip-up bag for the stand's record keeping before assembling the order. Her hands shake horrendously as she mixes the drink, but somehow she manages it without too much of a blunder. Yet, by the time she's ready to hand it over, the woman has already busied herself with something more important, talking fervently with someone on her cell phone.

“You can mail a hardcopy of the script to my apartment, but a digital will suffice for now.” A pause. “It is hardly my fault that you waited until the last minute to get me a copy.” An eyeroll. “Not a great first impression. Not a great first impression at _all_.” The woman's demeanor – once soft and welcoming – has shifted to something cold, professional, and the hair at the back of Therese's neck stands as she eavesdrops.

Grabbing the coffee and pastry from the countertop, the woman mouths “ _thank you_ ” before continuing in the opposite direction from which she came. Dizzy from the interaction, Therese wonders if it'd been a dream - an arabica-fueled fever. But as she moves to carry on with the rest of her duties, Therese notices the same pair of gloves she'd admired barely a minute ago, one placed neatly over the other at the edge of the counter.

Almost every theater she's worked in has some sort of lost-and-found, and she briefly contemplates leaving them there at the end of her shift. It's a pair of gloves after all – hardly something this woman would likely miss in any significant way. But Therese feels some sense of responsibility for them, and as the rest of her shift carries on and the interactions grow more and more dull, she drifts back to the blonde woman with the designer gloves.

Having paid by credit card, it won't be hard to find her name. Fanning through the stack of receipts, she narrows down the options by closest time, then by total, until she finally finds it: a $5.35 charge to an American Express belonging to Carol Aird.

Logging the name into the Notes app on her phone, Therese locks the register, shoves the precious cargo into the pocket of her peacoat and waits for Dannie at the west wing entrance of the performance center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, when you're struggling with another piece and need to get the creative juices flowing, you try something a little different. And as many of you already know, I am a huge lover of the theater and performance arts. Inspired by Cate's return to the stage and the source material that has Therese involved in set design, not photography, a new tale begins to weave.
> 
> Your comments fuel me. Let me know what you think below. 
> 
> Afterward, [come say hi on Tumblr](http://awomanontheverge.tumblr.com/) if you dare ;)


	2. Chapter 2

“Then Phil starts bitching at me about the spotlight, and I don't know how many times I have to tell them that there's nothing I can fucking do if the actors are dicking around on stage and not paying attention to their cues.” Dannie stabs at the pile of cooked broccoli on his dinner plate. “I mean,” he mumbles around the food, “I realize that no one really cares what tech does but I swear, Ter, one of these days I'm just gonna...”

Therese absentmindedly picks at the center of her salmon, nodding with feigned interest when it seems appropriate. As Dannie rambles on about his day, she takes solace in the daydream of Carol Aird. People-pleasing is just part of the job, but there was something different about her interaction with this woman, albeit brief as it was.

“Are you even listening?”

Therese looks up from her plate and blinks in Dannie's direction. “What?”

“Exactly,” he laughs. “What's up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure seems like something.” He waits a bit for Therese to shift the conversation, but when she turns back to her meal, now picking at her potatoes instead, he adds, “How's WTL treating you?”

“Oh, ya know, it's an absolute _dream_ Dannie.” She rolls her eyes and chews at the inside of her mouth. It's harsh and (mostly) unwarranted, and with a sigh, she turns to her friend and dinnermate and apologizes. “I'm sorry, that was-”

“No no,” Dannie interrupts, “I get it. I'm still working my magic for you, Therese. Honest. I haven't forgotten.”

“I know.” Smiling, she gives his hand a squeeze. “Hey – you don't know anything about what show they're filling the winter slot with, do you?”

“Not much,” Dannie shrugs. “Not really sure if I'm going to get pulled for it or whether they're going to extend my contract with My Fair Lady. I've heard rumors that they want to bring in some new pieces. Definitely not a musical. Going into one of the smaller venues.” He pops another floret into his mouth. “The Hanna, I think?” After a casual sip from his beer bottle, Dannie leans back in his chair. “Why do you ask? Think there might be a spot in there for you?”

“Maybe.” Too anxious to eat, she picks up her plate and scrapes the rest of her food into the trash, focusing her nervous energy on the dishes in the sink. Dannie – unsurprisingly – doesn't really take the hint, following her into the kitchen as she cleans to carry on the conversation she's clearly trying to avoid.

“I can try to get more deets if you'd like?” he offers, setting his dirty dish in the sink beside her.

“Thanks.” Therese wipes at her forehead with the back of her wet hand. “Would you mind finishing these? I sort of have a headache and would like to-”

“Sure thing. Want me to get you-”

But she's gone before he can even finish his sentence, disappearing to the solace of her bedroom – or as much as it can be with Dannie's room less than 50 feet away. Has retail work always been this exhausting, she wonders, or is old age slowly creeping up on her? Her feet and back ache from standing all day – certainly not helped by her terrible posture – and while she's used to being on the go all day in the wings of a theater, the boredom of retail can't dull the pain the way artistic adrenaline does.

A heated blanket, an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of fuzzy socks help take the edge off. Relaxing in bed, Therese scrolls through the CNN app for the latest news, then switches to Buzzfeed when she finds the politics utterly depressing. They're all feeble attempts to distract herself from what she _really_ wants to do, and with little self restraint, she eventually falls victim to her own curiosity.

Carol Aird.

Would this woman be uncomfortable to know she was searching for her after one conversation? Against her best judgement, Therese enters the name into Facebook, surprised when several profiles come up as matches. There's a teenager in Arkansas that she's easily able to rule out. Another only has a photo of a decorated Christmas tree as the profile picture, but after scrolling through, an English professor in southern New York certainly doesn't match the description of who she'd met earlier in the day. The third result is a private profile without many details, but Therese doesn't need to see any posts to know that she's found who she's looking for; she'd recognize those icy blue eyes anywhere.

The extent of Therese's cyberstalking is limited with Carol's privacy settings, but she reads as much as she can of the profile. There are no other photos, but some of her past “Likes” are listed, including the Paper Mill Playhouse, the New Jersey Theatre Alliance, and a few other experimental theatre companies that she vaguely recognizes – all potential clues, but nothing particularly surprising having met in a performance center. Scrolling further reveals they have no mutual friends she can glean information from, and without a phone number or email address to reach out to, Therese concedes that her investigation may end before it's really begun.

“Hey,” Dannie calls from the other side of the door. “I have something for you.”

She tosses her phone across the bed. “Better be good!”

He enters with a beer in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. “I figured you could use this.”

“You know me too well,” Therese admits, taking a careful sip from the almost-full glass.

“You should come out with me this weekend.”

“Maybe.” She sinks further into the pillows at her headboard. “I might have plans.”

Dannie snorts. “Right.”

“What? Is it so hard to believe that I might have a date with someone?”

“Because I need your half of the rent to keep this lease, I plead the fifth.”

Annoyed, she tosses a throw pillow at Dannie's face. “Why do I even live with you?”

“Because you _love_ me.”

Therese rolls her eyes. “Dream on.”

**-X-X-X-X-**

The performance center offers a student matinee on Wednesdays, and Therese is actually grateful for the large crowd that the afternoon show brings from a nearby middle school. The kids are awful to wait on, but they're an excellent distraction from her lovesick daydreams. By the time she has the chance to think about Carol again, Dannie's already at her work station ready for their commute home. It isn't until she's curled up in bed that the daydream of Carol hits her full force. Despite coming home exhausted, she suddenly feels wide awake at the thought of her.

Therese wakes the next morning with a laundry list of things she wants to accomplish with her day off. Breakfast at a local diner sounds like a dream – so much better than the protein bar and cup of coffee she usually scarfs down before her shift – and perhaps she'll finally finish the _History of American Theatre_ paperbark she's been slowly working on for months. But by 11am, she still finds herself stuck in bed aimlessly scrolling through her social feeds and the hundreds of emails she has a terrible habit of reading but never deleting or responding to.

A text from Dannie to meet him at the theater for lunch finally gets her butt in gear.

The first snow of the season hasn't yet hit the city, but as a lifelong New Yorker, Therese always goes out prepared. She chooses a pair of bright blue fuzzy socks to wear under her knee-high boots and an off-black peacoat to match. The hat and matching scarf she'd crocheted in college aren't the best at keeping her warm, but they have a certain sentimental value that keeps her from tossing them entirely. Ready to go, she digs into the deep pockets of her coat to find her house keys, but instead feels the smooth leather feel of a pair of gloves – _Carol's_ gloves.

Therese stands in the doorway for a moment just staring at the gloves in her hands. There's the lightest trace of perfume on them from where they've sat near Carol's wrists, and it takes every ounce of self control Therese has not to bring them to her face like a freshly laundered blanket. Curious, she slips one hand into the right one, flexing her fingers as the leather forms around them. They're admittedly a bit big for her, but there's something strangely exciting about wearing this woman's gloves, offering a closeness between them Therese assumes they would otherwise never have. Perhaps the mere presence of them will somehow conjure Carol up to her, urging the universe to bring them together to seal their fates.

With a smile on her face, Therese leaves the apartment and slowly makes her way through the crowded city to the Huntington Performance Center.

**-X-X-X-X-**

After years of friendship, Dannie's inability to actually be on time for anything in his life should not come as a surprise to her, yet Therese still sits frustrated in the theater lobby, taking her annoyance out on him with a series of text messages ranging from “ _where are you?_ ” to an oh-so-sweet “ _what the fuck?_ ”. A life in the theater is always unsteady, with schedules changing from hour to hour depending on the needs of the production, but _he'd_ texted _her_ to grab lunch, and as 12PM slowly changes to 1PM, her grumbling stomach is no longer willing to wait.

The performance center is a city within itself, and while she can name some of the theaters within it, navigating around it beyond her coffee stand and the break room is easier said than done for a newcomer. Without any Thursday matinees, most of the theater spaces she passes are dark, but eventually, Therese finds one lit with the house doors slightly cracked, the sound of a woman's voice echoing as she walks by. It's definitely not where My Fair Lady is playing, but something about it still draws her in. Dannie's kept her waiting long enough, so there's zero remorse in turning the tables.

“Hey? Remember me? Your best friend who traveled from out of town to be in your new show who you have stood up for lunch and who is going to strangle you the first opportunity she gets?”

Therese steps into the theater to get a closer look. The woman has her back turned to her as she paces along the front row of the house, but the voice and the coat are oh-so-familiar, and even before she turns on her heel to tread in the opposite direction, Therese knows exactly who is there, mumbling under her breath as she ends her call and begins tapping furiously across her touchscreen.

“Gonna kill her.” She looks up, and Therese finally sees her again, the face she's been daydreaming about for days. It's a profile that's even more stunning than she'd remembered, and she feels slightly dizzy when Carol's annoyed expression softens into a smile of recognition. “Hi there.”

Therese feels as though she's had the wind knocked out of her. “Hi,” she chokes. “I didn't mean to interrupt-”

“No interruption at all,” Carol assures. “Therese, right?”

She practically swoons at the recognition.

“I don't think we were properly introduced.” Carol tucks her phone into her handbag and reaches out for Therese's hand. “I'm Carol. Carol Aird.”

They're mid-handshake when Therese realizes that she's still wearing a particular pair of gloves. Embarrassed and worried that Carol might notice them, she slides them off and sheepishly holds them out for her to take. “You left these the other day. I, uh...” She scratches nervously at the back of her neck. “I'd thought about leaving them in the lost and found but was worried someone else might take them.” She offers an awkward smile. “They're very nice.”

“That was very kind of you.” If Carol's uncomfortable with the interaction, she's an expert at hiding it. With the gloves in her care once more, she stuffs them into the pocket of her bright red peacoat. “I'd assumed I'd left them in a cab or that my daughter had decided to add to her collection of stolen goods.”

Therese tries to find something witty to say in response, but she mostly just stands there like an idiot, blinking and staring and gaping like a beached fish. By the time she manages an awkward laugh, Carol's shifted the conversation.

“Well Therese, it looks like I've been stood up.”

“Whoever they are, they are crazy to have left you here.”

Carol shrugs. “I shouldn't be surprised. She has quite a habit of this.”

“I'm actually in the same boat,” Therese admits. “I was supposed to be meeting a friend who works here for lunch but...”

“Well if that isn't fate, I don't know what is!” Carol begins to fasten the buttons in the middle of her coat. “Would you like to go grab something to eat?”

“Oh I- I mean- Dannie might-”

She stops mid-loop. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to...”

“NO!” Therese barks. Suddenly self-conscious, she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. “I mean, his loss, right?”

Carol grins. “Exactly.”

Therese watches – transfixed, captivated – as Carol retrieves the gloves from her pocket and pulls them slowly over each hand, the muscles at her wrist and the bottom of her forearm flexing subtly as she does so. Next comes a scarf – dark but lightly patterned, obviously expensive, a perfect match to her handwear – and somehow she manages to make the simple action of tying a loose knot around her neck look positively seductive. By the time Carol's fully dressed in her winter garb and ready to brace the winter weather, Therese is desperate for the inevitable wind chill that will greet them, feeling her internal body temperature climb every second she spends at Carol's side.

“How does Italian sound?” Carol offers. “I'm starved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more. I am having so much fun with this one so far! :) 
> 
> [Come say hi on Tumblr](http://awomanontheverge.tumblr.com/)! But first, leave a comment below with your thoughts ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Greeted painfully by the frigid winter cold, Therese's offer to grab a cab for the two of them is met with a throaty little laugh from Carol. “I like to consider myself an honorary New Yorker,” she explains playfully. “I know a place. It's only a few blocks east.” Stopping, she turns toward Therese and smiles. “Unless you aren't up for the walk?”

“Walking is fine with me. I just wasn't sure if you...”

“Aren't you sweet?” A gloved hand tenderly touches Therese's cheek – a soft gesture that suddenly makes her hot from head to toe. She'd stand in the middle of the city like this forever, on the receiving end of Carol's smile and warm eyes, frostbite sounding far less threatening now. But it's a fleeting moment, barely a second before Carol turns her back to her and begins walking once again, beckoning Therese with a call over her shoulder. “Hurry up, slowpoke!”

The path they take is one she's walked hundreds of times past a block of businesses she's never given a second thought to. But everything is suddenly different with Carol a few paces ahead of her, guiding, opening her eyes to something new.

Sebastiano's is surprisingly full for a weekday when they arrive, but they're seated quickly and the service is pleasant, so there's little to complain about, especially with Carol beside her. When the young waitress hands each of them a menu, Therese busies herself with it, pretending to take in the laundry list of pastas and soups and salads while secretly watching Carol across from her instead, who swiftly pulls a pair of thick, dark-rimmed reading glasses from her purse. When she catches her staring, Therese buries her nose in her menu.

“Blind as a bat,” Carol confesses, tapping at the side of the frames. “Old age is a bitch.”

“You're not old,” Therese assures.

Carol laughs softly. “Oh, I am. But thank you.”

“ _You are beautiful,”_ Therese wants to proclaim. “ _Stunning. Marvelous. Breathtaking._ ” Instead, she politely shifts the conversation with a classic, “Do you have any recommendations?”

“I suppose it depends on what you _like_.” And oh, is Carol's voice smooth and cool as she speaks, slightly mischievous in a way that makes Therese's heart race. “No wait, let me guess.” She brings her hand up to her face in a contemplative pose and narrows her eyes in feigned concentration. “Vegetarian but hates salad. Red wine to drink – _never_ white. And you have a sweet tooth that you rarely indulge but always dream of doing when they come by with those big trays of lavish desserts at the end of a meal.” Satisfied with her theory, Carol leans back and waits for Therese's response.

Tingling heat tickles up the back of her neck to behind her ears, slowly creeping forward into her cheeks. There's little she can do to hide the deep blush spreading over her face, so Therese embraces it as best she can with a complimenting smile of her own. “Am I that easy to read?”

Carol removes her frames and sips slowly from her water glass. “I'm just exceptionally good at reading people.”

“Actually, I'm not a vegetarian,” Therese corrects. “I'm a pescatarian.”

Carol winks in her direction, lips curled subtly. “Close enough, darling.”

“But you're right, I hate salad. Traditional salad, anyway. The caprese salad, however,” Therese points to the middle of her menu, which she's returned her attention to in a feeble attempt to prevent herself from becoming even more of a blushing mess, “sounds absolutely delicious.”

“You can never go wrong with mozzarella cheese.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Therese agrees.

It isn't long before their waitress returns to take their orders – Carol going with a grilled chicken salad and raspberry vinaigrette (on the side, of course) with a vodka martini to drink, while Therese opts for the caprese salad and a glass of red wine because screw it, with nothing else on her agenda for the day and a stunning woman sitting across from her, a little liquid courage could do her some good.

Thankfully, their drinks come quickly, which Therese indulges in the moment the glass settles on the table, much to Carol's amusement.

“So Therese Belivet,” Carol begins, slowly swirling the martini in her hand as she speaks. “What do you do? Have you always dreamt of running a coffee shop?” Her own look of embarrassment quickly resonates. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for that to sound so insensitive.”

“Oh, no offense taken,” Therese assures. “I took the job to of course pay my bills, but also to at least be in _some_ sort of theater environment.” She stops for another sip of water. “I'm actually a set designer by trade. Well, what I mean to say is that's what I'd _like_ to do. I went to school for it and have some experience, but as you can see, my luck sorta ran out fast after graduation because now I'm working at that _fine_ establishment.”

“A set designer?” Carol raises her eyebrows. “That's a rather impressive title, especially for someone as young as yourself.”

Therese tries to shrug the compliment off. “I promise that it sounds fancier than it really is.” If there's one thing she loathes, it's talking about herself, so she quickly flips the conversation the first chance she gets. “What about you? I'd heard you mention a table read.” She blushes, realizing how her confession must sound. “I promise I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, it just sorta-”

“Like you, I'm involved in the arts.”

“An actress?”

Carol nods. “You could say that. Although the Times may disagree. Those _bastards_ ,” she hisses lightheartedly.

“I'm sure you are wonderful. I would love to see you perform.”

“Would you?”

“Oh yes.”

“I don't suppose you'd like to come to a rehearsal with me?” Carol offers, though the expression on her face shifts quickly as she realizes her proposition to someone she's barely met. “Look at me, you must think I'm a hopeless fool. I'm so sorry if I-”

“I'd be honored to,” Therese interrupts, a little desperate. “Really I would.”

“How does tomorrow sound?”

“Oh, I...” She frowns. “I have to work tomorrow. I'll assume your rehearsal is during the day?”

“It is.”

Although her composed facade is ever-present, there's a flicker of disappointment in Carol's eyes that makes Therese suddenly feel sick, as though she's completely blown her one and only shot with this beautiful stranger. “I could always call off tomorrow,” she swiftly suggests. “I could say I'm sick?”

“Miss Belivet, I wouldn't want to encourage any bad behavior, especially when we share an employer.” Carol leans across the table to get closer, lowering her voice. Now barely above a whisper, she adds, “Naturally, that means I fully support it.”

They share a laugh, airy and sweet that makes Therese feel like she's floating.

“Well that's that then!” Pulling over her purse from across the booth, Carol grabs her cell phone where it's tucked in the side pocket of it. “If we exchange numbers, you can text me when you arrive at the theater and I'll sneak you through the stagedoor in the back. Management won't know a thing.” She holds her phone out for Therese to take, allowing her to enter her details in to save as a new contact. The phone is in pristine condition, like everything else about Carol. It's protected by a thin, lavender-tinted case and glass screen overlay, and when she taps at the home screen, there's a background photograph of Carol and a young girl that almost makes her swoon, clearly the daughter she's heard mentioned in passing. Therese's hands shake as she adds her information, feeling Carol's eyes on her as she struggles to remember a simple phone number.

“I'll send you a text tonight.”

Therese smiles brightly at the prospect, dimples prominent in each cheek. “I look forward to seeing you. I mean, I look forward to _it._ The rehearsal. I...”

Carol reaches across the table to take Therese's hand, offering a reassuring squeeze. “I look forward to seeing you again too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love it? Hate it? Leave a comment below and tell me _all_ about it ;) Your comments fuel me forward! And thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented so far! :)
> 
> PS: Boy does the flu suck. I cannot wait until I can breathe properly again without coughing up a lung. YUCK! 
> 
> PPS: For those of you who love theater as much as I do - do yourself a favor and go listen to the new Company West End cast album. You will not regret it. I PROMISE.


	4. Chapter 4

“You stood me up.”

More interested in her phone and the impending text message from Carol, Therese barely looks up when Dannie joins her on the other side of the sofa with a bowl of popcorn in hand.

“Hmm?”

“Lunch. You stood me up.”

Therese rolls her eyes. “First of all, _you_ stood _me_ up. I texted you a million times and you didn't answer. Did you expect me to just wait there all day?”

“You know there's shitty service up in the booth. Would it have been so terrible to wait around for me?”

“I'm a hot commodity, Dannie.”

“So you've told me.” He tosses a few kernels in his mouth. “Where did you end up going instead?”

“Picked up a little something from a nearby Italian place,” Therese answers nonchalantly, trying not to call any more attention to it than she has to. Dannie, however sweet at times, is a horrible gossip, and the wrong exchange with a naive stagehand could easily ruin any chance she has with Carol if word gets around too fast. “How was work?”

“Oh no no, you're not getting off that easily,” he warns, throwing a piece of popcorn at her. “I know there's something you're not telling me. Wouldn't happen to be related to the fact that you haven't been able to pry yourself away from your phone for more than a minute this whole night, would it?”

Therese tenses. “No.”

“So if I were to take your phone, you wouldn't care?” Dannie challenges with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Nope.”

“You sure about that?”

Before Therese has the chance to tell him to, in simple terms, fuck _all_ the way off, Dannie's swiftly stolen her cell and is frantically searching for any damning evidence of her afternoon endeavors. But unless Carol's chooses that very second to text her – and that would certainly be her luck - there's absolutely nothing there for him to indulge in, save for a few unopened Old Navy emails and Candy Crush push notifications. “Satisfied?” she asks snarkily before retrieving her phone from Dannie's grasp. “I told you. Nothing there.”

“You're my best friend, and I know when you're hiding something.”

Therese responds to his incessant prying with a shrug.

“Fine,” he concedes. “Have you decided whether you're going out with us this weekend? Phil was able to snag us all cheap tickets to Beautiful. I believe ' _supporting our fellow thespians_ ' was the way he put it. There are still a few available if you're interested?”

“I...” Despite her involvement in it, her chances of seeing professional theater productions are few and far between, and a night out with Dannie and his gang of misfits is always _interesting_ to say the least. The opportunity to possibly invite Carol along is not lost on her either. “I'm not sure yet. I'll get back to you by tomorrow?”

“Fair enough.” Satisfied with her response, Dannie shifts his attention to the television across the room and whatever sitcom is currently playing on it.

Therese recognizes an escape when she sees one. Giving her roommate a few moments to get lost in the episode's plot, she carefully slips away to the solace of her bedroom to wait for Carol's text without judgement or prying eyes. To pass time, she replays their lunch date over and over in her mind, which had gone shockingly well, her painful awkwardness limited to the occasional blush on the receiving end of one of Carol's compliments. And then Carol, smooth as ever, asking for her phone number while leaving hers a secret, keeping her at her mercy as she waits. Had Carol done it on purpose to tease her? Certainly plausible, but she's hardly upset by it.

It finally arrives at 10:32PM from an unknown phone number with a 973 area code. But Therese doesn't need to ask who it is; if she hadn't been waiting all day, the tone of the message alone would have given it away.

 **C, 10:32PM:** I sincerely hope I'm not waking you. But thank you for the lovely lunch today.

Therese's thumbs shake as they hover over the screen, waiting for her brain to come up with some sort of response. Three dots suddenly appear to signal yet another message, and the anxiety that comes with them is almost too much for her to bear.

 **C, 10:33PM:** Rehearsal starts at 10AM tomorrow. I'll be at the theater around 9. If you're still interested, come any time between then.

 _If you're still interested_. Therese almost laughs at the thought of suddenly becoming disinterested in someone like Carol Aird.

 **T, 10:33PM:** I should be thanking you. It was delicious, and I appreciate you saving me from eating yet another lunch alone.

It sounds absolutely pathetic once she sends it, but that doesn't make it any less true. She follows it up with another quick text to hopefully appear less pitiful.

 **T, 10:34PM:** I'll be there.

 _I can't wait to see you._ Therese watches as the cursor blinks at the end of the message. With no response, she can't quite find the courage to send it. Deleting it, she tries again.

 **T, 10:35PM:** Goodnight, Carol.

 **C, 10:35PM:** Sweet dreams, Therese.

**-X-X-X-X-**

Concerned she'll be late with the horrendous New York City traffic, Therese arrives at the theater around 8:30AM. It takes her a few minutes to find the stagedoor on the backside of the building, but once she's confident she knows where to go, she claims a nearby bench and settles there to wait for Carol to arrive. Facebook and Twitter keep her entertained for awhile, sufficiently distracting her with adorable puppy videos and celebrity gossip until a familiar voice startles her out of her social media trance.

“Have you been waiting here long? Look at you, you must be freezing.” There's concern written all over Carol's face as she approaches, tugging the scarf away from her own neck to wrap it around Therese's. “Why didn't you call me? I would have gotten here sooner.”

“Oh no, I just didn't want to be late, is all.”

“Well, let's get inside before we both catch a cold.” Tapping her personal code into the keypad of the security system at the back of the theater, Carol opens the door and ushers Therese inside. “Shall we?”

They walk together through the halls of the performance center, quiet but content in each other's company. “I would offer to give you a full tour, but I'm actually just getting acquainted with it myself,” Carol explains. “I haven't even really been inside the theater for more than a few minutes. When I first arrived, the stage manager showed me my dressing room and the rehearsal space we'll be working in, but I've been waiting for Abby to get her head out of her ass to get me up-to-speed.”

“Abby?”

“Gerhard. She's directing this show.”

“Didn't she direct last year's revival of Streetcar?” Therese asks. “Her name sounds so familiar to me.”

“Indeed she did.”

“Have you worked with her before?”

Carol laughs lightheartedly. “Oh yes. Abby and I have a long history together. We're very good friends. I knew her long before she became a fancypants director. Now, don't get me wrong, she is incredibly talented, but her ego...” Carol chuckles. “Well, you'll see for yourself soon enough, I'm sure.”

The Huntington's rehearsal space for the Hanna is surprisingly small for the size of the venue. It fills quickly as the rest of the cast arrives, and it isn't long before Therese resigns herself to a corner, watching Carol from afar as she studies her script. The overhead lighting leaves much to be desired, but Carol still looks beautiful beneath it, the diamonds fastened at her earlobes catching it every so often as she moves her head to engage with a fellow castmate. Is it possible to feel jealousy over someone she's only known for a few days? Every time someone steals Carol's attention away, the heat of envy rises to her cheeks, ridiculous and childish and completely unflattering. Then Carol looks over to her with a soft smile and little wave, a reminder that she hasn't forgotten about her guest, and any anger quickly fades away and she's hopelessly enamored once again.

“Well well well,” Carol turns toward the door and greets, “look what the cat dragged in.”

Therese shifts her attention to match Carol's, watching as someone new enters the room – a thirty-something thin brunette dressed in dark slacks, an emerald button up and a pair of expensive sunglasses. Several large, eccentric rings line almost every finger to contrast modest hoop earrings and a gold chain necklace. There's an aura to her as she glides through the room, one that the cast seems to fear as they suddenly grow quiet – all but Carol, whose smile never falters.

“You're already on my nerves, Carol.”

“Lovely to see you too, Abby.”

Abby shrugs, pushing her hair back as she slides her sunglasses on top of her head. She scans the room, taking in each ensemblist until she stumbles upon Therese in the corner, looking like a deer in headlights. “I don't allow open rehearsals. If you're here with the media, I'll make arrangements for you to photograph at a later date.”

“Oh, I'm not-”

“I invited her,” Carol interrupts. “She's here with me.”

Abby's head snaps back over to Carol, eyebrows raised with a bemused smirk. “Is that so?”

Therese watches, completely captivated by the standoff between Abby and Carol. It's playful, no real animosity between them, yet it still makes her strangely nervous as the cause of it. Just when she's certain Carol's about to challenge Abby further, Abby turns to the company and begins giving instructions, officially starting the rehearsal.

It comes as no shock to her, but Carol is absolutely mesmerizing to watch. A middle-aged man of about 50 – handsome, Therese supposes, if she were into that sort of thing – is regularly Carol's scene partner throughout the rehearsal, and while she knows little about the plot, it doesn't take a genius to recognize that he is her love interest in the production.

“Why are you hesitating, Bill?” Carol asks in character a few hours into the day, her five-foot nine-inch frame pressed close to his in confrontation, egging him on with a wave of her hand. “How I _feel_ has never stopped you before, so why now?” With her palm flat against his chest, she pushes him backward a few steps, catching the actor – not just the character – off guard as he stumbles into the ensemble surrounding them.

“For Christ's sake,” Abby groans, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “Work with her, Fred. She's going to push your buttons here. You need to push back. You won't hurt her.”

Therese, hardly an actress herself, wants to rush up and strangle this pathetic excuse for an actor. Carol's emotion in the scene is raw and vulnerable, clearly building up to a moment of passionate fury, but his inability to keep it moving forward with matched talent is clearly exasperating to Carol, who looks up at the ceiling and mutters under her breath as Fred tries to compose himself.

“Why don't we take a fifteen minute break?” the stage manager suggests from her seat beside Abby, trying to diffuse the situation before it boils over.

Most of the ensemble takes the opportunity to grab a drink of water and get some fresh air out in the hall, but Carol uses the time to make Therese feel more welcome, joining her at the corner of the room. “Well that was....something, wasn't it?”

“It really was. You are...” Therese can't find the right word to describe it. _Amazing. Captivating. Magnificent._

“We'll get there,” Carol assures. “That's what rehearsal is for, right?” She grabs her purse from where she's left it beside Therese and hangs it over her shoulder. “Want to join me outside for a minute?”

Was there ever any question? With her head bowed, Therese follows Carol through the halls of the performance center until they're outside once again, right back where they started their day together. It's bitterly cold without her jacket, but she somehow finds warmth in Carol's companionship, shoulder-to-shoulder as they stand with their backs against the building.

“Smoke?” Carol offers, pulling a pack of Marlboros from her handbag.

“Oh, um...” Therese shifts uncomfortably.

Carol takes the hint from her body language. “I know, it's a terrible habit. I stopped when I had Rindy but it always seems to creep back up on me.” Tucking the cigarette between her lips, she shields the end of it from the wind with one hand and lights it with the other, a silver wisp of smoke quickly trickling through her fingers. She inhales slowly. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Oh yes,” Therese assures. “You are...so talented. Abby too. I'd almost forgotten how much I love this part of a production – all the learning and exploration. Watching the actors and director work together always helped me get a sense for the collective vision. A chair might just be a chair to some, but having the _right_ chair for the _right_ moment is so important.” She looks over at Carol, who is watching her intently, hanging on her every word. “I'm sorry, that must sound so silly, right? I mean, Jesus, it's just a chair...”

“Not at all.” Carol exhales out of the corner of her mouth. “If anyone understands process, it's me.” Keeping eye contact, she turns and rests one hand on Therese's shoulder. “You should never apologize for talking passionately about the things you love. Your eyes sparkle when you do, you know.” Carol's fingers slide up to brush a few strands of hair away from her face where the wind has blown them there.

“They do?” Therese suddenly finds it difficult to breathe.

Carol pauses for a drag of her cigarette. “Indeed.”

The world hardly stands still, but it does grow quiet, the wind that's howled in her ears suddenly a distant breeze as Carol watches her, gaze moving down from the eyes she'd complimented moments ago to the soft curve of her nose, then the indent of dimples at her cheeks, until she's staring at her mouth where winter-chapped lips are parted slightly. Would Carol kiss her? It's an absurd thought having known each other for so little time. But there is something in Carol's expression, the coy and confident sharpness in the blue of her eyes that suggests that it may not be so ludicrous after all.

“A group of people I know are going to a show this weekend. They're all theater folk, so it's a field trip of sorts.”

Carol raises an eyebrow in interest, urging Therese on with a hint of a smile.

“It isn't anything big but we typically do dinner and drinks afterward. And I thought...well, maybe...” Therese breaks eye contact as Carol brings the cigarette back up to her mouth, drawn to the flash of teeth and tongue as Carol's lips part to inhale.

After one final drag, Carol tosses her cigarette to the ground and puts it out with the toe of her boot. “Invite me around,” she offers smoothly. “If you're lucky, I might say yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make the author's day and leave a comment below :) Love it, hate it, I want to hear your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

Carol's flirty suggestion leaves Therese completely rattled, unsure how to even form a coherent sentence let alone properly ask her to join her for a night out. She watches the rest of the rehearsal from the corner of the room, completely enamored with every move and acting choice Carol makes. So early in the process, it amazes Therese how sure of herself and her character Carol is, every move and gesture and facial expression expertly planned yet still somehow natural.

Long rehearsals are common in professional productions, and it comes no surprise to Therese when the planned 5PM end time comes and goes without a bat of an eye from Abby or the rest of the cast. But as 6PM quickly approaches, Carol sneaks away for a quick break to join her in the corner, looking a little tired but marvelous nevertheless. “You should eat,” Carol suggests. “You must be ravenous by now.”

And Therese certainly is – in every meaning of the word.

“I could pick something up and bring it back for you?” Therese offers. “So you have something for yourself during dinner break?”

“No, I'll figure something out once Abby is done sufficiently torturing me for the day.” The dejection must be written all over her face, and Carol – so in tune with her already – tries to lift her spirits with a smile and a gentle brush of fingertips at her shoulder. “Text me that you've gotten home safe, will you?”

Like the memory of a dream slipping through her fingers as she wakes, Carol's disappeared into the ensemble before Therese can fully process the deeper affection behind Carol's request.

**-X-X-X-X-**

“How was work today?” Dannie asks nonchalantly the moment Therese steps through the door.

“Fine. Uneventful.” Juggling several brown bags filled with Chinese takeout, she closes the apartment door with a well-placed kick and an exasperated sigh. “I grabbed dinner. If you want to eat, help me with these before I drop them and you have to pick it up off the floor.”

Dannie rolls his eyes but still meets her at the doorway, grabbing the bags and taking them into their small kitchen space. “So work was good?”

Therese looks over at Dannie suspiciously as she peels off her coat and gloves. “It's a coffee stand, Dannie. Not all that exciting.”

“You're a lying liar, Therese Belivet!”

Unamused, she rolls her eyes and pushes past him to fix a plate for herself.

“I came over to the shop on my lunch break and, to my surprise, I found Genevieve working instead, who said something about you calling out sick today. But you don't look very sick to me, you sneak.”

Therese looks over her shoulder with a deadpan expression on her face. “I didn't know you were so invested in my work-life balance, but thank you for your concern, Dannie.”

“So where did you disappear to?!”

“Do you still have those tickets available for Saturday?” she asks, ignoring Dannie's question completely.

“Oh my god, are you having a secret affair with someone? Taking off of work for sordid day-stays at fancy hotels to carry out your dirty, dirty deeds?”

Therese shakes her head and laughs. “Don't project your chorus boy fantasies onto me,” she teases. “It's nothing like that.”

“Is she hot?” Dannie mumbles amongst a mouthful of sweet and sour pork.

“She is, but it's not like that and I'm _not_ having this conversation with you.” But any attempts to disappear to her bedroom with her eggroll and vegetable fried rice are thwarted by Dannie's lightness on his feet, dashing halfway across the apartment to block the doorway.

“When can I meet her?”

Therese blinks. “Do you still have those tickets?”

“Yes.”

“I have to ask her first.”

“And then?”

“And then...” Therese sighs. “I don't know. I don't even know if she'll say yes. I barely know her and she barely knows me and I'm probably overreacting to it all like I always do.” She shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the other and avoids Dannie's gaze.

“She'll come if you ask her,” he insists.

“Right,” Therese responds flatly.

“She will. I know it. I feel it in my bones.”

“How poetic.”

“Just do it, Ter. And if she says no, I will personally get you so shitfaced this weekend that you won't even remember what's her name-”

“Carol,” Therese interjects. “Her name is Carol.” She pushes past him before he has a chance to tease her anymore, closing and locking the door behind her as she enters her bedroom. Once settled with her plate of food in her lap, she pulls her cell phone from her pocket and brings up her text thread with Carol to make good on her promise to text when safely home.

 **T, 7:23PM:** Home in bed with some dinner. Wish you'd have let me bring you something. I hope rehearsal is going well, and thank you again for inviting me along today.

Therese re-reads the sent message over and over, a little embarrassed at how eager she sounds. She's halfway through her second eggroll when Carol finally responds.

 **C, 8:02PM:** Abby is a monster and we are just leaving now. Perhaps you'd offer me a raincheck on that dinner?

 **T, 8:02PM:** Of course.

Waiting for Carol to respond with _something, s_ he nervously taps her fingernails against the plastic at the back of her phone. She'd already extended the theater invitation in her own cryptic way, but Carol had skirted around it with her own flirty response, never really giving her a solid answer. Would bringing it up again make her seem desperate? Biting the bullet, Therese sends another text.

 **T, 8:07PM:** I have tickets to tomorrow evening's performance of Beautiful. Any chance you'd like to join me?

Watching the three dots as Carol slowly responds is excruciating. She briefly wonders if Carol takes extra time simply to tease her.

 **C, 8:08PM:** I could never resist the opportunity for some Carole King.

It stings a bit, having hoped Carol would be more excited to see _her_ than the production itself.

 **T, 8:08PM:** She is truly one of the greats.

 **T, 8:09PM:** We'll be at the theater around 7:30. Maybe we can grab drinks after?

Therese bites her lower lip and waits for Carol's reply, her heart thundering in her chest.

 **C, 8:10PM:** Looking forward to it.

**-X-X-X-X-**

The Saturday morning shift is terribly slow, partly because there's no show until mid-afternoon, but mostly because Therese is bubbling with excitement over her evening plans. With few customers, she spends the hours at her coffee stand determining what exactly to wear, down to the tiniest details of lipstick color and earrings to match. It's early in the afternoon, less than an hour before her shift is over, when someone surprisingly familiar approaches her counter.

“Whatever's the strongest on your menu, get me that and add as much caffeine as you can to it.”

Even out of the rehearsal space, Abby's incredibly intimidating in three-inch black heels, leather pants and a royal purple button up with a series of gold chains at her neck and bangles at her wrists. Preoccupied with her phone, Therese wonders if Abby even recognizes her from the day before, but when she finally looks up to pay when she relays the order and total, Abby removes her signature sunglasses from her face and smiles coyly. “You were at my rehearsal yesterday.”

Therese nods, unsure what else to say or do.

“Has Carol had a chance to taste your coffee?”

“I'm sorry?” Therese blinks, a little taken aback.

“If there's something you'd recommend, I'll bring one back to her.”

For some reason, she hadn't thought about the possibility that they'd be together again so soon, Carol just around the corner in the Hanna's rehearsal space. “I might have something she'll like,” Therese offers, and with the conversation dying as Abby returns to her emails, she turns and begins putting together the order – an iced latte macchiato for Abby and a peppermint mocha for Carol; it isn't exactly what Carol'd ordered before, but Therese still has a hunch that she'll enjoy it anyway.

Abby exchanges a twenty-dollar bill for the two drinks. Once in hand, she takes a quick sip from her own cup. “Delicious,” she compliments. “I'm sure Carol will think so as well. She seems to have enjoyed what you've offered already.”

It may have been a fluke before, but Abby's teasing is quite blatant now. “I certainly hope she likes it.”

Tugging her sunglasses back over her eyes, Abby shoots her a quick smile before turning on her heels. “I have no doubt she will.”

**-X-X-X-X-**

“Well don't you look fancy.”

Ignoring Dannie's snark, Therese adjusts the neckline of her blouse in the mirror, debating whether to leave only one or two buttons open at the top of it. The diamond necklace she's chosen falls between the small curve of her breasts, accentuating and practically begging for an admirer to look, and if she were to catch Carol's eyes on her tonight, she would _hardly_ take offense. The edges of her usually poker-straight hair are expertly styled thanks to the help of her rarely used curling iron, and after a quick spritz of hairspray to hold it, Therese finishes her makeup and returns to her room for the final touches – a bit of flowery perfume at her neck and wrists and a pair of maroon pumps at her feet; she'll regret the latter in the morning, but for the time being, she looks hot as hell, and feeling more self confident than usual, Therese looks forward to what the night holds for her.

“This Carol isn't going to know what hit her,” Dannie assures as they leave the apartment together. He's quite the gentleman, offering his arm that Therese takes with no hesitation, trying to keep steady on her feet as she struggles in heels she's not entirely used to wearing. It doesn't take them long to find a cab, and although she's a New Yorker through and through who is used to walking absolutely everywhere, she's never been happier to see the yellow car pull up to take them to the Sondheim Theatre.

They arrive slightly later than planned thanks to the usual weekend traffic, and Therese is absolutely terrified that she's left Carol waiting when they _finally_ pull up to the theatre. She doesn't even wait for Dannie to settle the fare before she bolts out onto the sidewalk. The crowd is heavy around the theater as they wait for the house to open, and it takes Therese a minute or two to wade through it before she finds Carol waiting for her, standing beneath the front marquee looking absolutely stunning in an emerald green dress and complimenting slate colored peacoat. The bright lightbulbs surrounding the marquee cast strong shadows across her face, accenting the sharp angle of her jawline and the stunning bright blue of her eyes. While Carol doesn't immediately notice her, Therese certainly does, taken aback by how gorgeous Carol looks in the winter moonlight. She'd left the apartment feeling sexy and confident, but Therese is suddenly self conscious again with Carol looking so effortlessly beautiful. Unsteady on her feet once more, Therese approaches shyly. “Carol?”

“Therese!” Always polite, Carol takes her hand and pulls her close for a quick cheek kiss. When they step back, Carol's eyes are all over her, inconspicuous to those around them, yet Therese can feel her stare on every inch of her body, goosebumps tickling as Carol's gaze moves from her arms to her chest to her shoulders until they settle back on her face, baby blues prominent with smoky eyeliner around them.

“Hey Ter, I-” Dannie approaches, but stops short when he realizes Therese isn't exactly alone waiting for him. He stands a little taller and straightens his tie before introducing himself. “I'm Dannie. You must be-”

“Carol Aird,” she finishes, extending her hand out for Dannie to take. It's friendly enough, but even Therese can tell Carol's grasp is firm, almost a challenge as she gives Dannie a once over. “Lovely to meet you. I suppose I have you to thank for meeting Therese, don't I?”

Dannie laughs nervously. “Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so.” He pulls away from their handshake to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. I'd-”

“No apology needed,” Carol assures, then throws a playful wink in Therese's direction. “She was well taken care of, I assure you. Couldn't leave her to starve, could I?”

The trio look back and forth at each other, Carol and Therese in subtle flirtation, Carol and Dannie in acknowledgment of one another, and Therese and Dannie in amused disbelief, Dannie already captivated by Carol's commanding presence. As they walk through the ticket booth and into the lobby of the theater together, Dannie hurries ahead to turn and mouth “ _she's hot_ ” before scurrying away to find the rest of their group.

“He seems sweet,” Carol compliments as they wait in line to find their seats.

“He is. He always means well. We've been best friends for years.”

“Just friends?”

“Dannie and I? Oh god, no, _never_. He's like my brother. Besides, see that group over here?” She points to where Dannie is chatting up several men, young and attractive with strong dancer's physiques. “Dannie works in tech for My Fair Lady. He's had his eye on Brian – the tall one over there - for over a year now. Can't exactly say I'm his type, if you know what I mean.”

“Chorus boys. They will eat your darling Dannie alive.”

Therese giggles shyly. “He's been warned, trust me. The heart wants what it wants.”

“Indeed it does,” Carol agrees with a smile.

There's seven seats reserved for their group, and when they finally find their row, Dannie politely introduces Carol to each of his coworkers. They make small talk for the ten minutes before curtain, and as Dannie and Brian take control of the conversation, Therese catches Carol gazing at her, saying nothing and everything as a hint of pink colors her cheeks.

Having had the luck to see the production when it first opened, Therese only half pays attention, spending most of act one inconspicuously watching Carol out of the corner of her eye. The red and orange from the stage lights reflect beautifully across Carol's face, and there are moments where it seems as though she's disappeared entirely, completely taken by the performance in front of her. When the curtain falls after an emotional rendition of “One Fine Day” that closes act one, Carol quickly wipes a tear or two from the corner of her eye. “You must think I'm a fool,” she laughs in embarrassment.

“Not at all,” Therese assures.

“I'm going to quickly freshen up.” Carol stands and secures her purse over her shoulder. “Join me?”

Therese certainly doesn't need to be asked twice.

Broadway houses have never been known for their accommodations, and by the time they make it upstairs to the bathrooms, the line is wrapped around to the merchandise stand and the makeshift bar. Thankfully, the wait isn't nearly as long as the line suggests, and it's only five more minutes into intermission when they reach the front of it. They meet each other again at the sink, Therese first with Carol following only a minute later. There's a closeness that Therese could certainly attribute to the cramped bathroom space, but as Carol fixes her hair and makeup in the mirror, Therese can feel her pressed close at the hip. Their eyes lock in the reflection, and just when Therese finds her courage again – to compliment Carol, to say how absolutely beautiful she looks – Carol pulls her lipstick from her bag, applies a quick touch up along the curve of her mouth, then turns away and leaves the bathroom to open up space for more patrons.

Therese finds Carol just outside the doorway. “It was a little warm in there, wasn't it?” she offers as small talk, hardly the compliment she'd been planning.

“It was.”

“ _Because of you_ ,” Therese wants to say. It's right on the tip of her tongue.

But the house lights interrupt her as they dim overhead, signaling the end of intermission. Weaving through the crowd as politely as they can, they make their way back to their seats. Dannie smirks knowingly as Therese settles next to him with Carol on the other side of her.

Act two is filled with some of King's most famous works, and even though Carol is a wonderful distraction, Therese can't help but watch the expert renditions of _Chains_ , _It's Too Late_ , and _Natural Woman_. When the title song begins to play though, and Carol shifts just slightly in her seat, Therese suddenly finds herself distracted again, drawn to where Carol's hands are folded neatly in her lap. Carol shifts the ring at her middle finger to the beat, the emeralds and diamonds catching the light overhead just a bit as they move, and Therese, suddenly captivated by the curve of Carol's hands – her long fingers, smooth skin, and the dark red manicure at her nails – aches to touch them, just to hold them in a gentle embrace, to run her thumb soothingly across Carol's palm.

She's hardly courageous or spontaneous. But Therese finds the nerve from somewhere deep inside. As Carole King sings of love and confidence and beauty, Therese reaches across Carol's lap to take her hand, hooking index finger with index finger in a shy, tentative embrace. She can barely breathe as she waits for Carol's response, her heart thundering in her chest as the piano on the stage and the rest of the orchestra in the pit pick up tempo as they shift to the finale – a resounding rendition of _I Feel The Earth Move_.

And when Carol squeezes her hand in turn, the Earth may not move, but Therese's world is certainly turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more. Make the author's day and leave a little comment below :) Love it? Hate it? I want to know :)


	6. Chapter 6

Therese certainly doesn't consider herself a night owl, but she's filled with a sudden burst of late-night energy as their group chatters excitedly inside a tiny bar on West 43rd. The show let out just a bit before 11, and while Therese would normally excuse herself and take a taxi home right after, Carol's presence gives her some motivation to burn the midnight oil and let loose.

And drink. Good lord, can Carol drink. Therese has met her fair share of actors, and social cocktails certainly come with the territory, but Carol doesn't shy away from the hard stuff, barely batting an eye as she finishes her third bourbon on the rocks. Considering it her opportunity to impress, Therese tries her best to keep up with her, but by the time she's nearing the end of her second, she's already starting to feel a bit warm and bleary-eyed.

Oddly enough, Carol only engages in conversation here and there, more often opting to listen instead, feigning interest in the sordid discussions of chorus boy life. Therese admires the way Carol seems to watch and analyze the world around her – the mark of a truly gifted performer.

So when Carol shifts her attention to start a private conversation, it takes Therese a little off guard. She knows Carol's talking to her, but the buzz of the bar in her ears and the way the alcohol's making it incredibly difficult to focus on anything but the shimmer of golden hair and a teasingly low cut emerald dress makes it almost impossible for her to comprehend anything Carol's saying. “I'm sorry?”

Carol laughs, low and confident, and despite everything else, Therese can certainly hear _that._ Hell, she can practically _feel_ it in the pit of her stomach. “I was asking where you got your necklace from.” At the mention of it, Carol reaches out and hooks her fingers beneath a few of the diamonds at Therese's chest.

Just the proximity of Carol's touch makes Therese go from pleasantly warm to scorching hot. “It, um...” She blinks a few times, as though it will somehow bring all coherent thought and speech back to her brain.

“Are you ok? You feel a bit warm.” Carol's hand is flat at her sternum before it slides up the length of her neck and jaw to finally settle at her forehead.

“I think I just need some fresh air.” As Therese stumbles toward the door, she vaguely hears an exchange between Carol and Dannie before a burst of icy air hits her face, so cold it practically burns. Her breath trickles around her in a frozen white puff.

“Anything I can do?” Carol asks with genuine concern as she approaches. She gently settles one hand on Therese's back to try and calm her, but Carol's hot breath at the back of her neck does little to settle her nerves or stomach. “Come here, let me look at you.” The brick foundation of the bar is absolutely freezing when Carol carefully leads her to stand against it, and having not grabbed her coat, the cold flows freely through the thin material of her blouse. When she fails to hide the quick shiver that runs through her, Carol shrugs out of her own peacoat without a word to toss it protectively over Therese's shoulders. “Hot and cold, huh?”

“Not usually,” Therese responds quietly. “You just...”

“I just?”

The sidewalks are lined with the usual New York City nightlife, and when a large group of tourists fill the breadth of the sidewalk they're on, Carol moves a little closer, no longer arm's length but more like elbow's length, and while the lights of the overhead marquees and the sound of jazz trickling out from a nearby bar could easily distract her, Therese can only focus on the lack of space between them and the gentle pressure of Carol's fingertips as they caress her face. The white cloud of Carol's own frozen breath swirls between them, and Therese watches Carol's lips in a sort of desperation, silently begging to be kissed but still not finding the courage to initiate despite the bottle of Jim Beam pumping through her blood.

Then, as though reading her mind, Carol runs two fingers along Therese's bottom lip in a makeshift kiss, a bit of a delicate pressure that still makes her eyes flutter shut. “We should get you a cab.”

“Oh.” The booze makes it hard for her to keep a straight face, but she doesn't quite realize it until Carol chuckles and gives her cheek a soft pat.

“You're pretty when you pout.”

Therese's eyes go wide.

“Now let's get you home, dear.”

Being a weekend, it doesn't take much for Carol to find a taxi. She even rushes back inside to grab Therese's coat and bag once she's settled safely in the backseat, and though Therese is sober enough to handle her own fare, Carol promptly swats her away and prepays with a $50 bill that more than covers the short travel back to her Manhattan apartment. “Take some aspirin when you get home,” Carol suggests lightly as she's about to close the rear passenger's side door.

Therese pats the seat beside her. “You're not coming?”

“Not this time.”

It suggests _another_ time, and while she's disappointed to leave alone, Therese feels a little better knowing she hasn't completely blown her chances. “Goodnight Carol.”

“Goodnight Therese.”

With that, the cab disappears into the busy streets, and Therese watches out the back window for as long as she can until Carol becomes nothing more than a blur of emerald in the sea of New York City.

**-X-X-X-X-**

“What the hell happened to you?” Genevieve can barely contain her laughter as Therese walks up to WTL for their shift change.

“Carol Aird happened to me,” Therese grumbles, shifting the sunglasses over her eyes.

“Rough night?”

“Understatement. I failed to remember that bourbon and I do not mix.”

“Yikes. Go easy, baby. You gonna be ok?”

Therese shrugs. “I'll manage.”

Despite there being a Sunday matinee, the coffee stand remains surprisingly – and thankfully – quiet, which allows Therese to sip water and breathe through the nausea. Halfway through her shift, she escapes for a quick dinner break in the seclusion of the Hanna, expecting to find it wonderfully dark and quiet where she can sneak a fifteen minute nap in the back row. But she's surprised to find the lights on and a few familiar faces at the front of the theatre. Trying not to interrupt anything, Therese quietly sinks into a seat and watches the scene unfolding before her as Abby's voice booms.

“We're going to block this like a dance. You won't hurt her if it's done right.”

“It's hard to throw her onto a bed without, ya know, a _bed,_ ” Fred complains, arms crossed over his chest in frustration.

“I thought you said we had a full crew?” Abby barks over her shoulder toward where their stage manager is taking notes. “Where the fuck is props and costuming?”

“They're working on it. _You_ decided to go into the theatre a week early. I'm making calls.”

Therese shifts a bit in her row, which apparently is just enough to catch Carol's attention on the stage despite the blinding spotlights above her. She offers a wave with a wiggle of her fingertips, and already annoyed, Abby angrily follows the path to Carol's distraction until Therese is on the receiving end of a death glare. “You.”

“Uh.” Therese smiles awkwardly. “Hi?”

“I need a blow up mattress, a cheap bedframe, a pair of silk boxers and a black nightie.”

“Abigail,” Carol argues flatly, “Therese is not at your beck and call. Leave her alone.”

“If your girlfriend is going to hang around my rehearsals, then I'm going to put her to work,” Abby explains matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I. I'll go,” Therese offers sheepishly. “I didn't mean to- I was just on a break from work and-”

“What can we do to get her on the payroll?” Abby asks the stage manager, completely ignoring Therese's comment or Carol's plea to leave her alone. “Look, I will personally give you my own credit card if you'll run out and get me the shit I need and have it here by tomorrow's rehearsal. Get this done and consider yourself hired.”

“That is...not how this works.” The production's stage manager pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs.

“Look at all the fucks I give about your employment processes,” Abby shrugs. “Now Tracy-”

“Therese,” Carol corrects, rolling her eyes.

“Whatever. Therese. Here.” She beckons her forward with a wave of her hand. Taking her wallet out from where it sits in the back pocket of her jeans, Abby tosses her Visa over.

“Can I, um...can I go finish my shift? I'm here until 8 and then-”

“I'll be here,” Carol assures, interrupting Abby before she has the chance to berate the poor girl over absolutely nothing. “Go do what you need to do.”

Hurrying back to the coffee stand to clock back into her timesheet, Therese buzzes with excitement and confusion. “What the hell just happened,” she mutters under her breath as she works to brew the evening supply of various coffees, hands shaking as she fumbles with the machines. The pressure to succeed is always high when working on a professional production, but throwing her desire to impress Carol into the mix makes her unbelievably nervous and anxious. She's barely able to make small talk with the patrons that approach her stand, and while her body is physically there, her mind is stuck back at the theatre, trying to picture the stage and Carol and her male castmate to get a clear context of what exactly she's been tasked to find.

A little before 8 and with no other customers, Therese locks up a few minutes early and makes her way back over to the Hanna. The theatre is dimly lit and the big crowd of cast and crew who had been there just a few hours before are now gone, leaving Carol alone in the center of the stage beneath a striking spotlight. She sits on a fold out chair with a script in her lap, and Therese takes great care not to startle her as she steps further inside. So perfectly focused and posed in the moment, Therese grabs her phone from her pocket and snaps a photo. It will inevitably help her with her search, but she's completely enamored with it beyond just a job assignment, marveling at how stunning Carol looks lit center-stage beneath the soft-yellow glow. Long, thin shadows stretch along the stage around her chair and legs, and oh, those _legs_. From the angle below and the subtle slit of the skirt she wears, Therese can see the line of Carol's flesh-toned stockings and a flash of bare skin where the material ends.

She's halfway down the aisle and two more pictures deep before Carol notices her. “Hi there.”

“Hi.” Therese hastily puts her phone away. “Have you been waiting here alone? You didn't have to.”

“No harm in getting a little more practice in,” Carol assures. “I've got most of it memorized but there's this monologue in Act 2 that is just killing me.” She taps the front of her script with her nails. “Perhaps you could help me out sometime?”

“Of course. I'd love to.”

Carol disappears backstage for a minute to store her chair, then returns with her coat and purse in hand. “I'm so sorry about Abby, by the way. She's a piece of work. You're under no obligation to-”

“I want to. I really do.”

Carol shakes her head and laughs. “You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. She's a bitch of a friend but a nightmare of a boss. Don't tell me I didn't warn you.” She pulls her purse up higher on her shoulder. “Do you need anything from me?”

“I don't...I don't think so. The list is simple enough. What time is rehearsal tomorrow?”

“4.”

Therese nods. “Should be plenty of time.”

“You're a lifesaver,” Carol compliments, giving Therese's shoulder a squeeze.

Long after they've parted ways, Therese still feels the slight pressure of Carol's fingertips along her skin.

**-X-X-X-X-**

She's at the cusp of sleep when Therese realizes Abby hadn't relayed sizes for the costume pieces on her list. It wouldn't be difficult to guess Carol or Fred's sizes, but she'd rather be safe than sorry, and so, barely awake, she tries to figure out the best way to ask Carol – her hopeless crush – what size lingerie she prefers without looking like an absolute fool.

**T, 11:53PM:** I don't know how to write this without it sounding awkward. One item on Abby's list was a nightie for your bedroom scene with Fred, and I need to know your size.

**C, 11:54PM:** Small. I can bring something from my own collection if it would make things easier. Abby wouldn't even know the difference.

Therese sweats at the mental image of Carol owning lingerie.

**C, 11:55PM:** Did you have a particular vision in mind?

Suddenly, Therese is wide awake.

**T, 11:55PM:** I was thinking red. Lace. I know Abby said black but I think red shows the strength and anger you're feeling in that moment.

“ _And you'd look hot as hell in it”_ , Therese wants to add.

She doesn't.

There's no response for a few minutes, and just when Therese is certain Carol's fallen asleep or lost interest in the conversation, her phone buzzes with a notification.

**C, 11:59PM:** Something like this?

A moment later, a photo comes through – a rather risque selfie with a bright red nightie (and the curves beneath it) as the center focus. Carol's face is hidden but there's no need to guess who the subject of it is, and although she's slightly ashamed of herself, Therese simply can't stop staring at it. The lingerie is exactly what she's imagined for the scene, but Carol herself is even more stunning than Therese could have ever fantasized.

**C, 11:59PM:** Better inspiration than your other picture? ;)

Hands shaking, she only manages a quick reply before she tosses her phone aside to force herself to stop while she's ahead.

**T, 12:00AM:** Absolutely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always, always, _always_ make the author smile and, more importantly, inspire more :) Leave your thoughts below!


End file.
